Another Debt
by SpiritualEnergy
Summary: He could feel her fingers on him, and Grimmjow felt himself once again coming back together under her quiet touch. [Grimmjow & Orihime]


**Title: **Another Debt  
**Rating: **M – for violence and Grimmjow's mouth  
**Pairing/Characters: **Grimmjow/Orihime  
**Spoilers: **Up to chapter 277 of the manga. Consider this AU after that.  
**Disclaimer: **Bleach © Kubo Tite  
**Summary: **He could feel her fingers on him, and Grimmjow felt himself once again coming back together under her quiet touch.  
**Author's Notes: **This is my very first Bleach fic, written for my real life friend who asked for Grimmjow/Orihime. Being her snuggle-bunny slave, I couldn't resist. I'm a little worried about Grimmjow and if I got his character correct, but I'll let you guys be the judge. And I hope _you _enjoy it, Red!

* * *

Grimmjow hated this place – there wasn't enough spirit particles in the air, and this sorry dimension was filled with disgusting mortals who had to be pushed aside as if they were sewage just to get to the real prize. As if any of that mattered to him, since the only one who had any real business with this place and Soul Society itself was Aizen. He wanted to wrap his hands around that guy's face and squeeze until it was mangled and broken. 

_Don't redirect your attention from your goal, Grimmjow, _Aizen had said while preparing for battle after a long awaited silence on his large thrown. Winter had come, and the bastard's army was now as large as ever, with the Espada close behind like lap dogs waiting to be called into service, waiting for a bone. _I trust there won't be any problems, and that you will not become distracted with Kurosaki Ichigo. _These days, Aizen's face had been even more stony than usual, and there was always a bubble of resentment and anger that lay beneath the surface even though he never showed it even after the woman had been taken back to the real world. Maybe that was why that damn Ulquiorra worshipped Aizen so much – they were both tight-asses who could share facial expressions.

Fuck that, he had decided. If there was no chance of a real fight with that shinigami who had had even enough skill to _touch _him, let alone damage him, then what was the point of him even entering into this stupid war in the first place? Grimmjow had no qualms about a war – it just wasn't his problem to deal with. But fat chance in hell that he would miss out on a death match against Kurosaki Ichigo. Aizen would just have to deal with it, because even though he was the ruler over Hueco Mundo, he was no ruler over Grimmjow.

_Twists and turns and leaps and bounds and there was a sword pushing its way through his chest and the hole on his abdomen looked even bigger now - swirls of blood and gushing rivers marring buildings and roads – and his fucking number was gone again –_

Which is how he had ended up where he was now, with that blind fucker's zanpakuto sticking out of his body as if he were some kind of shish kabob waiting to be swallowed whole. First his arm and rank, and now it was being stripped away again because there was now a gaping wound in his stomach and chest and now not only one, but _both _his arms were gone as he fell to the ground in a heap of broken bones and blood as he screamed his lungs out, with Tousen above him, with those covered eyes glancing down at him as if he could really see him flailing about on a cold street as other Arrancar and Shinigami continued their battle around them in the real world.

"_This is what happens when you don't obey Aizen-sama's orders," _he had said, in front of him, above him, as if he was better. _"Now lay there and die for the sake of the higher cause."_

And then he was gone. And Grimmjow could still hear Aizen's voice in the back of his head, muttering about how he should obey what he says, telling him he was his underling and that there was nothing better for him. Grimmjow decided he despised that man, and his stupid 'underlings'. He didn't need to be an Espada to be better than any other Arrancar or Ulquiorra, who was now giving him a blank stare from his higher perch up in the sky, uninjured and still alive because that Ichimaru Gin had stopped them after they had had an all out brawl all that time ago after he had tried to get the woman to heal what should've died and what he wanted to kill.

"Damn it..." he swore, and voices were now beginning to fade away and there was no more sound invading his ears except for the occasional remnants of dripping and thumping and clashing of metal on metal. It felt as if he were free falling, like he would do sometimes when he went out on a mission. Except this was a different feeling, and the sting closed in on him and wrenched his guts out onto the floor and –

- this must be what it felt like to die.

* * *

Something warm and familiar touched his skin, and Grimmjow could've sworn he had heard his name in the midst of the sleep he found himself falling into. He opened his eyes despite the annoyance he felt at being awoken, and he found himself staring up at _her_. Her face, her eyes, her hair, her hands working their magic shield on him, and her wet, bloodsoaked clothes that clung to her as well as the look of determination she wore. 

"You," he croaked, and he hated how small and insignificant he must've looked. He realized what she was doing; healing him, sewing him back together, just like she had done with his left arm and number when she had first arrived in Hueco Mundo to demonstrate her powers. "Bitch."

She didn't say anything, but was now looking at him with dark eyes that were just like the ones that had stared at him in terror after he had cackled at the return of his rank and the gutted body of Luppi. He was a man – an Arrancar, no longer the Sexta Espada - who was crumpled and defeated and more than half-way dead, and she was a woman who seemed to have more power and control for her own good; she might as well have been a Shinigami with flesh and blood and no faux body.

There was still no sound. Only her silent form above him with her healing hands gave him any clue that he was still alive. He wanted to ask her what was going on, wanted to demand that her precious _Kurosaki-kun _come out and face him like the Vizard he was. He wanted to kill this woman who he had repaid his debt to and who was now giving him something else to repay; he wanted her to die because she could've given him the final blow herself, but instead she decided to help him out because she was still decent enough to repay her own debt.

Slowly, he could feel his skin crawling and dancing until his wounds began to close. He could feel her fingers on him, and Grimmjow felt himself once again coming back together under her quiet touch. He wanted to spit at her feet, he wanted to destroy everyone that had ever come into contact with him, and he wanted to start with her because this picture wasn't right.

His mask suddenly felt heavy and real and _cracked _on his face, and he felt his throat and voice coming back to him, no longer dry and ripped from his yells. She was saying something now, her lips moving, and there was a small, high tone that invaded his senses but there were still no words for him to understand. So he took hold of the rope she was providing him, because even though he wanted her to back off and not give him another debt to repay to her, he still felt the heat and the raging anger that welled up and boiled in the swell of his hollow hole, and it was the closest thing to a heart he had ever had. He took in the low resounding sound of her voice and the warmth of her shadow and made it into something akin to resolve.

Grimmjow looked up at the world and it looked back.

"Grimmjow," she said softly, and he realized it had been _her _saying his name. "It's me." Her name soon came after that, whether it was between her companions or out of her own mouth.

"No shit," he replied nastily, feeling foul enough to just give her the onslaught of his curses. She still had the shield over him, but he could now hear everything else, and it all fell down on him; there was still a war at hand, and he had been lying there, hardly even noticing it. "What the hell do you think you're doing, woman?"

Her hand reached down a little further, and Grimmjow knew his cracked hollow mask was beginning to go back to its usual state on his face. _Touch, heal._

She gave him a tiny smile, almost non-existent, and she had never looked more human. "This is for helping Kurosaki-kun," she said, even through the heat of battle around them, similar to how he had replied to her after rescuing her from Lolly and Menoly. "Even if you didn't mean to."

He had wanted her to heal Kurosaki so _he _could fight him. She knew that. She feared that. But she still thanked him because she was here and her Shinigami _nakama_ were alive and because he had a new enemy to add to his list.

"Che." He snarled, spitting on the ground just like he had wanted to. "I didn't do it for you, woman." He'd never done anything for her. "I could kill you, if I wanted to."

Looking up at him, his form towering over her now that he was fully recovered and standing, she gave him another teary smile, and it was beginning to creep him out because she looked just a _little _too comfortable being in his presence.

_If I wanted to._

It rang out between them, and now the deepening roar of battle was starting to make him itch with excitement because who knew the woman was this smart?

_But you won't._

Grimmjow felt power pouring into his veins, the impact of being alive surging into him until he was up and flying away from her with another debt to repay on his shoulders. But this time there was nothing else holding him down; no Espada rank, no orders, and no bastard with a god complex. He wanted to kill.

This time, he was up for killing Aizen.


End file.
